RataBlancaTreasures

She can’t afford a veil, so she simply uses tissue paper Pretending is better than nothing It is obvious to see that her bones are easy to unravel Slow and smooth, like silk ribbons But each caressing fiber lacerates down to her soul And it leaves her without protection Her cracked lips are marked with one word Slabbed in place with red lipstick So when she stares in the mirror She would be reminded to smile She is trapped, barb wired to the solitary stereotype Hiding accented words because she wants the raw shame to vanish But she shows only melancholy fears because her hands are dry and empty Vacillation does not vanish from her j